In the early aughts, when I was in my late teens and early twenties—in typical millennial-girl aesthetic—Sex and the City became my entire personality, and I lived by this Carrie Bradshaw quote. Shopping, for me, was a combination of cardio and therapy. Whenever I was feeling restless, anxious, bored, or lonely—which was often in those early days after I moved back to Omaha and didn’t know anyone—I’d grab my slouchy hobo bag and head for the mall. If all I did was walk a few laps and window shop, taking in the recent trend arrivals, and noting the pieces I wanted but would wait for a sale, I considered it time well spent.

I’ve always been a planner. I like knowing what comes next and stacking habits that support my day. (I blame my fixed Leo sign for this.) But over time, I noticed that checking off my to-do list left me bored, frustrated, and resentful of my own schedule, especially when I didn’t get everything done. That’s when I started noticing the difference between routine and ritual.

Vintage pieces have the incredible ability to tell a story, bring history into your home, and add layers of warmth and authenticity that new items lack. Personally, I find shopping vintage isn’t just about finding those perfectly aesthetic pieces. Rather, it’s about sustainability, craftsmanship, and a deep appreciation for the objects that have stood the test of time. These pieces carry a sense of character deep within the hand-carved details, rich patinas & heirloom-quality construction that our modern equivalents lack. Whether you’re drawn to the rustic charm of old farmhouse tables, the elegance of gilded European mirrors, or the cozy nostalgia of floral china, hunting for vintage treasures allows you to curate a home that feels truly personal and lived-in. Today, I’m sharing my top tips for shopping vintage.

David Kennaley was my 3x great grandfather on my father's side. Please note: while the surname Kennaley has changed multiple times over the years: Kennaley, Keneily, Kenealy, Connelly, Canale, Connal, etc. For sanity purposes, I will be using the spelling of my grandmother's maiden name, Kennaley, when discussing the family. In other mentions, the name is spelled as it was from the document it was copied.

This past weekend, my mom and I traveled to Fort Morgan, CO for my uncle's wedding. On our return trip, we drove the prettiest two-lane highways through southern Nebraska to see the old Wildrick homestead that had been my 3x great grandparents, John Wesley and Minnie Wildrick's, and to stop by the cemetery in Cambridge, NE so I could photograph the tombstone of their family plot. We're planning a return trip because where the sod house and barn foundation would have stood was buried beneath ten feet of weeds. But as we left, it really stirred my interest. What drives someone to leave all they know, their family and friends, their lifestyle, and pack all their belongings onto a wagon, travel hundreds of miles and begin a new life?

Alice was born 21 November 1852 to Archibald and Almira (Hopson) Tuttle in Mondamin, Harrison County, Iowa. Her parents had met and were married in Hancock County, Illinois in 1850. Their oldest child, Mary was born in Illinois, but by the time of Alice's birth, the small family had moved to Iowa. Alice was followed by more siblings, another girl, Hester, was born in 1857 while they lived in Iowa. But the family soon crossed the Missouri and settled in the Florence area of Nebraska territory. Her brother William (1859), and sisters Ida (1862) and Harriet (1865) were born while the family lived there. William's obit stated that he was born in a covered wagon in Florence.

As far back as I can remember, I've had a love and passion for history, and the art and stories it creates and inspires. It makes sense, as my grandfather taught high school American History and American Government. Long before I could read on my own, I loved sitting in his lap, listening to stories about George Washington, the Declaration of Independence, and my favorite retelling, The Battle of Bunker Hill. I was forever dragging around textbooks, full of words I didn’t understand. But he’d pause in his readings so we could pore over every detail of the illustrations and paintings featured among its pages.